


Trainspotting

by rxttenk1d



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Death, Depression, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Fighting, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Heroin, Hospitals, M/M, Needles, Over Dosing, Slurs, Smut, Suicide, This is gonna be gay, but later, fucking GAY, god i love my boys, heroine junkie!race, im love my boys, kind of, spots just there, trainspotting au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-11-23 07:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11398152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxttenk1d/pseuds/rxttenk1d
Summary: Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?-Trainspotting au where racetrack higgins is an italian heroine junkie living in edinsburgh, ireland, and spot conlons just looking after his adopted brother.





	1. Enter the Junkie

Take the best orgasm you’ve ever had, now multiply it by a thousand, and you’re still nowhere near it. That’s what heroine felt like to racetrack Higgins as slowly, he fell backwards. It started with a blissful, warm numbness in his toes, creeping slowly up his legs and kissing his stomach. It brushed over his lungs and trickled down his arms, before curling itself up in his throat and wrapping itself around his brain. He was giddy and lazy and groggy and everything was just… soft. 

Soft, as if you were looking through life with a smudged camera, where everything was blurred lines and coloured blobs, where time had no meaning, and light fractured away to make numbing darkness, where noise didn’t exist, yet he could hear every heartbeat, every breathe, and the blood pulsing through his veins at breakneck speed. Everything was euphoric, in his heroine induced world. The feeling of a body-maybe jack, maybe crutchie, maybe albert, maybe his own imagination- pressed against him and the feeling of lips against his neck made him ache and want and need.

He felt a bite at his neck and everything became sharper for a second, the lines hardening out as if you were turning up the opacity to the world. He looked and saw crutchie and jack, laughing, pressed close together, lips lazily exploring necks and tongues exploring mouths, and a short, muscular boy sitting close to jack, nervousness in his eyes. He looked away from the kid and to the boy pressed against him, and it was albert- sweet, lovely albert- who was pressed against him, mouthing against his neck and kissing him softly- sweetly, coaxing whines and whimpers out of his mouth. Everything went soft again as albert pushed his hand into race’s jeans, groping him, and he heard a moan- distant, as if through a wall- that soon turned to static, to back ground noise.

They continued like this, race’s hand soon in albert’s boxers, fondling him slowly and sloppily, pushing moans and whimpers and mewls out of each other between sloppy kisses and broken words half lost in the ever present static, and soon there was a knot in his stomach and he was close- so, so close- before he came, hard and sudden, his back arching and vision going white. He became a puddle after that, soft and squishy and mouldable, clinging desperately onto albert, keening quietly as he came down from his orgasm. 

After that he just… drifted. 

His eyes glassed over, and his breathing became soft, as he stared into space at the softness of the roof, tuning out the voices surrounding him and listening to the static electricity, the background noise, the soundtrack to his life. He glanced every so often at jack, who was leaning on the uncomfortable kid that came in with jack while he was still balls deep in the first hit of the day- what was his name? spock? pot? Some dumb name like that. Racetrack stared at him with dull eyes, his hair sweaty and skin pale. He remembered this wasn’t how he used to be, this empty, hollow of a boy, with empty blue eyes and bags underneath them. 

Before race started doing heroine, he was strong and ecstatic, full of life and happy. His eyes always gleamed, his smile dazzled multiple guys and girls, and he practically radiated happiness. Now, he was empty. He’d have brief periods where he was back to his usual self, laughing and grinning and taking the piss out of anyone. Then, he’d be empty, like a zombie. He’d scratch at his skin till it bled, and he’d walk as if he were about to fall asleep on his feet.   
“give me some more skag” came a mumbled next to him, and he whined as albert sat up, crawling to jack. He sat up himself, making grabby arms at albert, the muscles heavy and lead like, before eventually lying back on the pillows he had laid out below him. 

He watched as fire came to life, flickering slowly, a spoon full of heroine hovering on top of it. His mind started to wander as he stood up, head spinning and heart racing. As he stumbled over to albert, he heard a growl of ‘god damn junkies’ from the direction of the kid. He shot him a glare, only to stare straight into dark, earthy eyes. eyes that showed no emotion, only hate, and anger, yet hid a sadness. Gorgeous, dark eyes that betrayed an emotionless face, and-

“you want some more?”

His attention was drawn back to albert, who was watching him, eyebrows furrowed, eyes full of… something. 

“uh yeah- yeah gimme some more” he slurred, sitting down next to his best friend turned… something. Fuck buddy? Lover kind of? He didn’t know. All he knew was that if he ever needed a good fuck, albert was there. Albert handed him a needle as race once more tightened the belt around his bicep, smacking the space between his lower and upper arm. Slowly he pressed the needle into it, biting down hard on the belt as albert watched him in fascination. He hissed in pain, eyebrows furrowing, before pressing the plunger and once more forcing liquid poison- no, liquid heaven- into his veins. He pulled the needle out of him and moaned, giggling happily as his eyes rolled back, body feeling like pure heaven, and he was falling back- back- back- and his head hit the lap of the weird short guy from earlier- no. the gorgeous short guy from earlier. 

Shorty stared down at him, a grossed out look on his face- oh his face. A jawline from the gods, and blinding white teeth. Eyes that he was currently fucking losing himself in, and soft looking, brown hair that he just wanted to tug and a neck he wanted to leave hickeys all over as this guy fucked his brains out and-

“what the fuck!” came a yell. “does he have a fucking boner?” 

“yeah that happens sometimes” came a voice- Albert. “come here, race” 

And suddenly he was being pulled up by his shirt. “no… no wanna stay with short stock” he mumbled, making grabby arms at the other.   
“you want him back, spot?” albert asked

“what- fuck no-” the kid- no, not the kid, Spot- replied. Jack snorted and rolled his eyes, leaning on crutchie. 

“c’mon spot, don’t be rude” he cooed, and race continued to try and crawl back to spot. Finally, he gave in. 

“fuck- fine. Come here, you disgusting junkie” he growled, and albert let go, causing race to fall into spot’s chest. He lay there until spot pushed him down, his head now laying in his lap as he stared up at spots face, mumbling nonsense. 

“stars in your eyes” he mumbled quietly, reaching a hand out to touch the side of spot’s face. Spot sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“fucking junkies.”


	2. Enter the brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you had asked spot conlon if he was a heroin addict, he would have punched you in the mouth. Why would he be addicted to that shit? Its poison. It could kill you. He’s just a fucking college student trying to make his way through life.

If you had asked Spot Conlon if he was a heroin addict, he would have punched you in the mouth. Why would he be addicted to that shit? Its poison. It could kill you. He’s just a fucking college student trying to make his way through life. Also, it’s the shit that killed his parents. Well- it added up to their death. Anyway. Spot Conlon- real name Sean (although only two people can call him that)- grew up in Brooklyn with two drug addicted parents, that died when he was 14, leaving him to the hands of social workers that punted him from home to home till he landed in Ireland, in a town called Edinburgh. He lives, currently, with talented actress and singer Medda Larkin in a large, fashionable home, and with his adopted brother, Jack Kelly. It was a stable family, and he wasn’t complaining about the home he was in (for once). He had a loving parental figure, a decent brother, a cat, a roof over his head, and enough food in the fridge. It was all good, apart from the fact that this decent brother of his was a heroin addict.   
“I’m going out, miss Medda!” came Jack’s voice from the door. Spot was busy working on his latest assignment from college, when Medda looked at spot.  
“can you ah- go with Jack? I just wanna make sure he’s safe… I’m starting to worry about him…”   
When he looked up there was pain and fear in her eyes, and Spot nodded, hating seeing the sweet, kind, woman like this. “of course, mama” he replied, smiling softly. She hugged him tightly, and he hugged her back.  
“thank you Spot- Sean… you’re a good kid” she held him at arm’s length, and he pulled away, donning his cap.   
“Jack! I’m gonna come with you!” he called out, pulling open the front door of the house. Jack was at the gate, a cigarette in his mouth.  
“the fuck you are” he replied  
“either I come with or you’re not going at all. Mama’s orders” he said, crossing his arms and jutting his chin out at the taller.   
“fuck- fine. Lets just go. But if you tell Medda anything, ill beat your ass to hell and back”  
“I’d like to see you try.”  
“lets just go”

-

“the fuck do you mean you’re a fucking junkie?” Spot demanded angrily as they walked along the streets.   
“I mean, I take heroin and inject it in my veins for fun”  
“what the fuck? That shit could kill you!”  
“so? Just… don’t tell Medda. Please. I’ll do whatever you want”  
“try to give up”  
“can’t promise”  
“fine. How about we go home when I say, and you buy me dinner on the way home. Or lunch. Or just… whatever. And I come with you every time.”  
Jack considered it, as they stood outside a large, run-down apartment complex. Finally, he spat in his hand, holding it out. Spot did the same, and they shook.   
“let’s go meet the crew”  
They stepped inside the large complex, and started to trek up flights of stairs, Jack whistling a tune and Spot biting his lip nervously. They stopped at a floor, the number 8 hanging on a wall, chipped and looking like it was about to fall down any second. They walked along the corridor, green wallpaper peeled back to reveal the wall underneath, eaten at by mildew and mould and wet with water.   
“this place is fucking disgusting” Spot said, as they came up to the end room.   
On the door, ‘Mother Superior’ was scrawled in spray paint, the large, messy, letters squashed together. Jack opened the door with a push, the lock on the door obviously broken.   
They walked into a bare apartment, and spot was instantly hit by the smell. It smelled of pot. Really strongly of pot. And of vomit. He screwed up his nose in disgust.   
“heya Jacky boy!” came a voice at the other end of the room. He recognized the kid- crutchie was his name, wasn’t it? He comes over a lot. He and another kid.   
“heya crutchie” Jack replied, and walked over, sitting down next to him.   
Spot looked around the small place, counting five people not including him, his brother, or crutchie.  
“so. That’s Romeo, Elmer, Racetrack, Albert, and Specs” Jack said, pointing to every boy in the room.   
“usually Katherine- AKA mother superior- comes by to supervise, but today her dads locked her in the house. So I suppose you’re doing her job today, huh kid” a boy- he thinks maybe Elmer- says to him, smiling. He was burning something in a spoon, a lighter hovering underneath it, the flames licking the bottom of the spoon as Romeo (he thinks) gets a syringe from the floor, pressing it into the spoon as slowly, he sucks up the liquid into it. He proceeded to attach a needle to it as Elmer tightened a belt around his arm, slapping just below it. The former slowly pressed it into the space, gently pressing down. Spot looked away, memories of home seeping into his mind. Mother, slowly injecting it into herself when he was five. Her, lying on the bed and staring off into space as he cried because- ‘momma, I hurt, I hurt’  
The neighbour’s ended up rushing him to hospital, where they found a ruptured pancreatic pseudocyst. His mother claimed that she thought his father- who was drunk off his ass- was taking him to hospital. Cue the fighting when he got home, and him locking himself in his room. He learnt to defend and look after himself from then on, and never to trust adults.   
“Spot” he blinked, shaking his head as Romeo looked at him, worried.  
“huh-”   
“you zoned out, man. Been calling your name for ages. You ok?”  
“yeah- just… thinking” he replied, and sat next to Jack, who currently was sucking face with crutchie. He nudged him, quirking an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.  
“yeah, straighter than a ruler, aren’t ya”  
“oh fuck off, spot” Jack pushed him, rolling his eyes.   
He grinned as he turned to the room, locking eyes with the blonde boy who was just hand fucking the other blonde boy on the floor. He looked pale, with empty eyes and giant circles underneath, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. From what he could see of him, he had patches of rough, red, scabbed skin, like he had been scratching and scratching and scratching at it, relentlessly, till it bled. Yet, in his heroin induced state, he was almost… beautiful. He looked away as jack leant against him, and he shoved the older off, looking back at the boy. He caught his eye again, and stared at him, trying to figure him out more. Who was he? How did jack know him? Why has he turned to heroin? Recreational use, or another reason? Why was he-  
“you want some more?” came the voice of Albert, he thinks, and spot sighed, leaning against Jack.   
“uh yeah- yeah gimme some more” replied the other. His voice was high pitched, yet broken, and he sat next to Albert, his back to Spot. His neck was scarred, and so was his back from where his shirt had lifted. He watched him, fascinated, till suddenly, a head was in his lap. He looked down at the empty eyed blonde boy, confusion on his face, until-  
“what the fuck!” he jumped back. “does he have a fucking boner?”  
Albert sighed, rolling his eyes. “yeah that happens”   
Albert grabbed his shirt, pulling him up, and the kid whined. “no… wanna stay with short stock”  
Spot stared at him as he made grabby arms at him. Short stock? Really? Jesus… that was rude…  
“want him back, Spot?” Albert asked, quirking an eyebrow  
“what- fuck no-” he exclaimed, shaking his head. Race whined again, pathetically, as Jack snorted, leaning on crutchie.   
“c’mon Spot, don’t be rude” he cooed.  
“fuck- fine. Come here you disgusting junkie” he caved in, and Albert let him go.   
Race fell face first into his chest with an ‘oof’, and Spot pushed him down till his head was in his lap. He stared up at Spot, fascination in his face as he reached out a hand, touching the side of the shorter’s face as he mumbled incomprehensible nonsense.  
“stars in your eyes” he whispered, and Spot sighed, biting back a smile.  
“fucking junkies” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and chapter two is up and running! now that introductions are out of the way, its gonna get interesting. thanks for sticking round, and hey- if you wanna give me headcannons/ideas/ships for the stories, pester me at rxttenk1d! love you all!


	3. Home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> home  
> /həʊm/  
> noun  
> where the heart is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a bit of race/albert to show how close their relationship is. (also some half assed porn because i love some good old blowjobs but i cant be arsed writing a shit tonne of it. sue me)  
> and im sorry its only 1000 ish words, i just wasn't in a writing mood tonight. but i already gave you a chapter today, so this can be excused.

Home. Race didn’t know what home was, nor where it is. Is it at his house where his father was? No. not his father, who drinks away the money and beats race till he’s black and blue. Is it at his mother’s house? No, not his mother. She locks him in the attic and screams at him when he does even the smallest thing wrong. Maybe his sister or his brother? No. they act like he doesn’t exist. So maybe, if race had to pick a home, it would be Albert’s home.

 

 Albert’s home is a shitty apartment in the shitty side of town. It was small, with a kitchen and a shower and a toilet. It held enough room for a tv on the wall and a bed, and a couch. The good thing about the apartment, thought race, as he walked with Albert to said apartment, was the balcony. Albert’s apartment was on the very top floor, overlooking the whole city. The balcony was surprisingly big, and held a large mattress covered in pillows and blankets where they slept during the night, wrapped around each other and sharing soft kisses and sweet touches in the darkness. But, the best part about the whole apartment, wasn’t the balcony or the mattress. It wasn’t the shower or the fridge, or the posters on the walls or the books stacked in all odd places. No, the best part about the whole apartment, was Albert. And not just _any_ Albert. It was Albert DaSilva. _His_ Albert.

 

“honey, I’m home” called Albert as he unlocked the door, and race followed suit, saying his own ‘did ya miss me?’ to the empty apartment. They grinned as they shrugged off jackets, hanging them on the hooks nailed next to the door.

 

“so, what are we having for dinner, chef Antonio?”

 

Antonio. Only albert could call him by that name.

 

Only in the private of the apartment, after they’ve fucked did he ever call him that. And they _never_ fucked. They always made love. Because Albert touched him so softly, treated him so sweetly, leaving in his wake an abundance of hickeys on racetrack’s pale, scarred body. He kissed every scar carved into his body, every freckle and bump, every insecurity he had, and he’d call him beautiful- no, not beautiful, he’d call him an art work. A living piece of art. He remembered the first time. The first time Albert touched him. They were fifteen, and Albert saw the scars lined neatly on his arms. That night as they lay on the mattress, panting softly, Albert had called him art.

“not even van gough or degas could capture your beauty” he had mumbled, “with your eyes so blue the sky looks dull, and a smile that makes the sun look like the blackest room. No man nor woman could ever dare to dream to capture your beauty. You are better than any artwork or picture I’ve ever seen”

Race had cried that night. Not out of fear or sadness, but because he had never felt love like that. True love.

 

“let me raid your fridge, DaSilva. Then I’ll see”

 

Albert nodded, cracking his neck as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Sticking one in his mouth, he sat down as he lit it. “wanna fag?” he asked, offering the box.

  
“nah I'll pass.”

 

Race started pulling odd ingredients out, humming as he did so. “why the fuck is it always 300 degrees in your house Jesus Christ” he said, and Albert grinned cockily at him.

 

“gives me an excuse to see you shirtless” he replied, and race sighed, smiling goofily.

 

“ya could just ask”

 

“fine. Will you take your shirt off so I can see your hot bod?” Albert asked, and race grinned, rolling his eyes as he took off his shirt. Albert traced his eyes up and down the other’s body, biting his lip as he stood, walking towards racetrack.

 

“hold on, DaSilva. Do you want dinner or not? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m starving”

 

Albert groaned, rolling his eyes. “fine. But after, you’re mine”

 

“you got it” race replied, winking at Albert as the latter went and sat down, watching as he started to prepare the food.

-

He pressed race up against the wall, kissing him deeply, their empty plates lying on the table.

  
“albert” he whined, “fuck- albert” he bucked against albert, the shorter having pinned his hips against the wall. Albert flicked his nipple as he kissed him again, race whining. “just fuck me, please!”

 

“calm down race, don’t rush it. let me take my time.”

 

“fuck no just fuck me now please”

 

Albert grinned as he started to palm race, sucking hickeys into the taller’s neck. Race eagerly rutted against his palm, head resting against the wall as he unbuttoned his pants, hastily tugging them down. He palmed himself through briefs as the other removed his own shirt and pants, grabbing race by the wrists and kissing him, walking slowly towards the sofa. He grinded against race, fingers dug in in the soft space just above his hips. He pressed the other onto the couch, tugging down both his and race’s under wear. Race sat up quickly, pulling albert close as he sucked a hickey into his chest, nipping at his nipple and grinning as he elected a quiet moan from the boy above him.

 

“t-take your time...” Albert mumbled, running his hands through the other’s hair, “we have the night at our beck and- ah! - call...” he moaned as race’s hand wrapped around his cock. He bucked into his hand eagerly as race’s mouth soon latched on, swirling his tongue around the tip. He gripped race’s hair tightly, grunting as he started to force his cock down his throat, race gagging on it. he wrapped his hand around his own cock, staring up at albert with eyes. albert stared right back, biting his lip hard enough that the taste of copper filled his mouth. “oh fuck… you’re gorgeous… my very own piece of art..” he mumbled, tugging softly on his hair. Race moaned quietly, breathing heavily through his nose, face flushed red.

 

-

 

He lay on the couch, naked and tired, curled around Albert. “I love you, Albert. I really do” he mumbled sleepily.

 

Albert smiled softly. “I love you too, Toni. I love you too.”

 

So if you were to ask Racetrack Higgins where home was, he would say at Albert DaSilva’s. But that was then, before it all happened. Before it all turned to shit. But hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!! chapter three!! thanks for sticking with me so far! and look, i promise everything will get interesting. just give it time. anyway, got headcannons/ideas/just wanna chat? say hi to me at rxttenk1d!


	4. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spot conlon had loved someone once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO WEEKS IM SORRY IM SORRY AND ALSO THIS CHAPTER IS SHIT AND REALLY SHORT AND I SAID IT WOULD GET INTERESTING BUT I KEEP POSTING BAD CHAPTERS AND THIS IS REALLY SHORT ITS ONLY 750 WORDS IM SO SORRY IM SO SORRY ILL TRY AND MAKE THE NEXT CHAPTER 2,000 WORDS I PROMISE JUST TO MAKE UP FOR THIS POOR EXCUSE FOR A CHAPTER IVE HAD REALLY ABD WRITERS BLOCK ANDI WAS GOING SOME WHERE WITH THIS CHAPTER BUT IT FAILED  
> also trigger warnign for suicide.

Spot conlon had fallen in love once. His name was Charlie, and he was tall, broad shoulder, and had a jawline from the gods. He used to deliver the paper every morning, knocking on the door with a bright smile and never faked happiness. Spot answered the door for him eagerly, always bringing him some juice or some biscuits he had bought with the money he’d gotten from various jibs he had picked up for the older, Charlie being two years his senior.. Charlie was his only friend, and he had known him since he was eight. Charlie was the one who found him, screaming, on the ground, and was the one who got the neighbours to drive him to hospital. Charlie was the one who hung out with him and took him to the movies on a Friday night with his friends, Charlie took care of him and held him when he cried, and calmed him down when he was angry, and, one night after the movies, took his virginity. 

Charlie was slow and gentle, kissing him softly, touching him sweetly, making him keen and moan, bucking into the older boy’s hand as Charlie pressed into spot. Spot was 13, and was in love, and Charlie loved him back. He took him out more, giving him a soft kiss whenever he saw him. He bought him gifts, and took care of him, and in return, spot gave him his heart. Spot trusted him, and Charlie never betrayed his trust. Charlie was 15, spot was 13, and they were in love with each other. Charlie’s friends, soon became spot’s friends as well, and he learned to love and trust the group of friends who took him in and took care of him along with Charlie. 

There was 10 of them all together, including spot and Charlie. There was Brendin and Dilin, who were twins, with spunky neon green hair, and piercing blue eyes. Tora was the group’s mascot. She was charlie’s little sister, only 6 years old, with gorgeous blonde hair and loving brown eyes. Aiden was quiet and sleepy, a straight A student who walked like the living dead. He was funny and intelligent though, and eagerly fuelled spot’s love of space, providing him with facts about the plants, and telling him every time something new was discovered about the universe they lived in. 

Taila, annie, darla, and squidge were the resident lesbians. They were a polyamorous couple, and taila, annie, and darla were full of grace and eloquence, speaking softly and eloquently, hands always clasped infront of them. Squidge, on the other hand, was tall and broad, with large hands and a bright smile. She was strong and happy goo lucky, speaking in slang and laughing happily. She was the oldest of the group, being 20. She bought alcohol and food for the group, and took care of everyone. She was the mum spot never had.

The last time spot saw Charlie, it was 3 am. The blonde boy had knocked on spot’s door, and when spot had opened, charlie’s green eyes were filled with tears. He had asked spot to come with him, and spot agreed. Charlie had touched him again that night, each kiss slow and deep, as if he was trying to memorise the taste of spot. He had called him sean that night. He never did before. When they lay under the Brooklyn bridge, panting and tired, Charlie had picked him up, hugging him tightly and kissing him again and again, repeating a soft mantra of ‘im sorry, im sorry’, to which spot would ask what happened, before Charlie took him home, giving no answer to spot’s question, kissing him deeply before he left. It was 5 am. Charlie was 16, spot was 14. Spot didn’t find out the answer to his question till later that day.

Charlie killed himself half an hour after he left, hanging himself in his bedroom at home.

Spot went numb after that. His emotions seemed to disappear quickly, like his heart had died with Charlie. He started working out more to get his mind off it, and soon became strong and muscular. He kept hanging out with the group, but was angry and quiet, rage and sadness and guilt bubbling under his skin. It was his fault Charlie died, if he had pushed Charlie to tell him what was wrong, he would still be alive. It was his fault, all his fault. He’s a pathetic fucking idiot. It was his fault.


	5. Clubbing, Sex, and Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The club that Racetrack had ended up at that Friday night, was loud and packed, a mess of writhing half naked bodies, and flashing lights. It was full of energy and people packed with the latest drugs- be it pills, weed, or coke. Clubbing- when he wasn’t a sleeper, or hallucinating, or clawing at his skin- was his favourite past time. Here, he could do whatever, bang who ever, drink or smoke or inhale whatever, and none would be the wiser. Here, he was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to make up for yesterday's poor excuse for a chapter, have a 1568 word chapter the day after. love you guys.

The club that Racetrack had ended up at that Friday night, was loud and packed, a mess of writhing half naked bodies, and flashing lights. It was full of energy and people packed with the latest drugs- be it pills, weed, or coke. Clubbing- when he wasn’t a sleeper, or hallucinating, or clawing at his skin- was his favourite past time. Here, he could do whatever, bang who ever, drink or smoke or inhale whatever, and none would be the wiser. Here, he was free. 

“You see, Race” Elmer explained, arm slung around race’s shoulder as they walked across the park towards their favourite nightclub, The Paper Boys, “Bees are- they’re- the best fuckin creature, like, ever” 

“Are you high already?” Jojo asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, but anyway-“

“If you smoked all my pot I will fucking kill you” Jojo glared at the other, lips pressed tightly together, and Mush grinned, smacking the him on the back. 

“Lighten up, man! I’ll buy you some more tomorrow, yeah?” he grinned, before Elmer collapsed, starting to sob. They rushed to see what was wrong, Blink’s phone out ready to call someone if the worst happened. 

“C’mon, El” Race cooed, rubbing his back, “what’s wrong?”

“T-the birds and the bees!” 

Race just got more confused. “the fu-“

“They’re disappearing at an alarming rate!”

\--

“That hurt” Elmer whined, rubbing the red hand mark on his face. 

“Well maybe if you didn’t smoke all my pot and then act like an idiot, this wouldn’t’ve happened” Jojo replied angrily, grip tightening on Elmer’s shoulder.  
“It was just a joke!”

“Blink nearly called 911”

“He shouldn’t jump to conclusions!” 

“Just shut up. We’re here”

The Paper Boys was a four-story building, towering over shops and cafes in central Edinburgh. It was a popular club, and its most frequent visitors were Racetrack’s group of guys and their token two girls. They had their own seats in one of the private rooms on the first floor, thanks to the fact that one of their token girls, Katherine, was the owner’s daughter. They got free drinks and food, and lived happily in the club every Friday and Saturday night. 

“I’m gonna go dance” said Race, once they were safely tucked away in their private lounge, “see if I can pick some cute guy up.” He ignored the flash of jealousy in albert’s eyes, leaving the thickly curtained room and wandering down the stairs. 

“Race! Race!”

Race looked up, coming face to face with jack. “Kelly” he said, smirking. “nice of you to join us. I’m gonna go dance, care to join?” 

“Nah. Gonna go talk to the fellas. But Spot’s down there if you wanna dance with him, we’ve been down there for a coupl’a hours. Wouldn’t recommend grinding against him though unless you wanna get punched in the nose” he said, grinning, as Race rolled his eyes. 

“Why’d I wanna grind your twink brother, Kelly? You suggesting I like him?”

“Fuckin yeah I am, Higgins”

“That’s gay”

Jack grinned, whapping him on the head as he turned and walked up the stairs, the younger of the two turning the opposite way and entering the throng of thrashing bodies, sweaty and grinding against each other. He kept his eye out for Spot, wondering if he could find the older boy that had caught his eye days ago. That train of thought was lost though, as a pretty boy with ginger hair came and started to dance with him, grinding against him and threading his arms behind Race. They lost themselves in the music, the lights bright and the ground sticky with alcohol. 

It was nearly 2 am when he saw the boy sitting at the bar, silent as his eyes scanned the crowd. Leaving the tall, muscular man he was attached to, he made his way over, eyes locked onto the guy, who was staring into his drink. He pulled out his phone, tapping on it as he bounced his leg, biting his lip anxiously. He was dressed plainly, as if he was just going to a simple pub, unlike the exotic looking people around him; there were girls in fishnets and latex skirts and 7-inch heels, men in straps and chains, boys in crop tops, and even women in thongs. He looked… different. Odd. He liked it.

A man in a thick coat approached him, holding two glasses of… some drink. He offered one to the boy, and Race stopped as he took it, downing it, before proceeding to take the other and gulping that down too. He turned, heading for the door, and the blonde followed suit, the man in the coat looking bewildered and sad. Race didn’t care. His loss. As they approached the parking lot, he stopped the plainly dressed boy, placing a hand on his shoulder, and the kid turned around to look at him. “yes?”

“Excuse me, I don't mean to harass you, but I was very impressed with the capable and stylish way you dealt with that situation. I was thinking to myself, now this boy’s special.”

Kid gave a smirk. “thanks” 

“What’s your name?” 

Kid stopped, thinking for a second. “uh… Aaron. Yeah, Aaron”

“Well, uh Aaron yeah Aaron, where are you going?”

“Home” he said with a small smile

“And where is that?”

“Where I live.”

“Great”

“What?” Aaron looked at race, confused

“I’ll come back with you if you like, but im not promising anything.”

Aaron smirked, eyebrows raised. “Do you find that this approach usually works? Or, let me guess, you've never tried it before. The truth is that you're a quiet, sensitive type...but, if I'm prepared, to take a chance...I might just get to know the inner you: witty, adventurous, passionate, loving, loyal-“ he stopped, holding out his hand to hail a taxi as it turned the bend around the road “Taxi!”, before once more turning to race. “A little bit crazy, a little bit bad. But, hey, don't us boys just love that?” 

“Eh?’ he looked at Aaron, confused, as spot climbed into the taxi that had stopped before them.

“Well, whats wrong boy, cat got your tongue?”

“I left something…” 

 

The man driving the taxi turned to look at him, a frown on his face. “you getting in or not?” he asked, accent thick.

He got in the back of the taxi and sat next to Aaron, whose face was obscured by shadow. 

Their hands entwined, and race felt soft lips against his neck.

~*~

Race moaned, eyes staring at the roof of the dark room as the pretty boy fucked him, thrusting into him quickly and roughly. “oh- oh- fuck- yes Aaron please-“ he moaned obscenities, his hands pinned above him with one of Aaron’s hands, his free hand starting to pump Racetrack’s cock, matching in time with his thrusts. 

“so tight- fuck-“ he moaned, leaning down to kiss racetrack deeply, pushing his tongue into the other’s mouth. “I’m close- fuck- Race I’m close-“

Race came with Aaron, his back arching off the bed and mouth open in a silently cry as the other boy shuddered, gasping and letting out a broken moan of Race’s name.

~*~

“So why can’t I sleep in your room?” he asked, standing naked in the hallway as his clothes were shoved into his hands.

“Reasons, Racetrack. Reasons. Guest room is down the hall on the left, big wooden door. Can’t miss it” the door was shut in his face, and he sighed, trudging down the hall, white tiles cold against bare feet. He collapsed on a neatly done bed, his ass already starting to hurt as he buried his face into the large pillow, only looking up as a door opened, and a fully clothed Aaron crawled into bed with him. 

“Goodnight Race”

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

~*~

“The fuck you mean this is your home?” Race asked Jack Kelly, a bewildered look on his face. 

 

“I mean, this is my home” Jack responded, shrugging as he shoved another forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth as he read the morning paper, taking a sip of coffee. Medda looked at the blue eyed boy, quirking an eyebrow.

“So, are you gonna sit down and have some breakfast? I made enough for six people, hun” 

Race sat down, starting to eat the food lain out before him as he thought to himself. ‘so if it wasn’t jack, then who was it?’ he tried to remember details of the events the unfolded last night- soft brown hair, a jawline from the gods, an American accent- oh no. oh no.

Spot Conlon, or as he knew him as Aaron, walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, sitting down next to race. “hey, Higgins. Have fun last night?”

Race’s jaw dropped. “you- you’re- that was-“

“Yeah”

“Oh. Is your name actually-“

“Nope.”

“Ah. I should get back to Alberts… he’s gonna start to worry about me” he said, standing up.

Jack nodded as race thanked them all for their hospitality, and thanked Medda for the lovely meal. She just nodded, telling him he could come anytime, and that it was so nice to meet one of her Jack’s friends. He looked at Spot, who nodded, his face once more hiding any sign of emotion as he smirked. 

When he was on the sidewalk outside of the large, spacious home, despite his ass hurting like a bitch, he started to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanna send me a prompt/suggestion/idea/ship, or just wanna chat? message me on tumble at pastelpinkandskittery.  
> Comment?


	6. The First In A Long Line Of Things Going Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Racetrack walked into the door to Albert’s apartment, panting, having run all the way from Jack’s house to the ramshackle building he lived in. “h-hey Albert” he said, chest heaving. “how are ya?” the red headed boy glanced at him from his place on the shitty couch, comic in hands. Albert nodded, raising his eyebrows, before going back to reading. He walked over to the taller boy, yanking the comic out of his hand and sitting down on his lap. “the fuck you reading, DaSilva?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes. two weeks. I'm sorry.  
> (the song is beachboy by mccafferty)

Racetrack walked into the door to Albert’s apartment, panting, having run all the way from Jack’s house to the ramshackle building he lived in. “h-hey Albert” he said, chest heaving. “how are ya?” the red headed boy glanced at him from his place on the shitty couch, comic in hands. Albert nodded, raising his eyebrows, before going back to reading. He walked over to the taller boy, yanking the comic out of his hand and sitting down on his lap. “the fuck you reading, DaSilva?”

“Get off of me, you fuckin fat lug” he groaned, “give it back!”

“Spiderman, huh?” he mused, flicking through it, “who would’ve guess” he gestured to the various Spiderman comics littering the small space, a teasing grin on his face.

“Don’t you have some hunk to get fucked by” spat the boy below him, shoving race off him. Race laughed, looking at him, before going quiet. There was no humour in his friend’s face, no laughter in his voice, only… a sadness. 

“Al…” he said softly, “are you ok?”

“Yes” he said, standing quickly. “I’m fine” 

Race looked up at him, confused, as he jumped up. “Seriously, Albert- babe- what’s wrong?” he placed his hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t babe me!” he scowled, pushing Race. The blonde boy fell backwards, landing on his back and hitting his head with an ‘oof’. Albert walked backwards a few steps, a frown on his face as Race stood up. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” he asked, confused, before it hit him. “you’re not jealous of Spot, are you?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up, “we just fucked! And you and I fuck all the time”

Albert scoffed, rolling his eyes, crossing his arms. “Race you fucking idiot. You’re falling in love with him!” he said, “you’re falling in love with him. Every time he comes with, you always lie with him and hang out with him and you’re always touching him. And it hurts me because-“ his voice started to break, on the verge of tears. “I’m in love with you. I want you to be mine. Not fucking spots.”

“Albert…” 

The red headed boy sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m going out” he briskly grabbed his coat, walking to the front door and leaving promptly. Race stood, watching after him, sad and angry and all-round fucking confused. When Albert left, Race didn’t follow him, deciding to try and clean up the small space. He started by binning the take away packets, and dropping the few dirty dishes they had in the sink. He started to clean up the comics, placing them in piles in order of when they came out. Placing them in a corner, he started to clean his own comics, all of them Nightcrawler or X-men. Once the apartment was sufficiently cleaned, and the trash bags taken out to the large bin, he began to cook dinner.

“I don’t get parties, or getting’ high, I just get low, most of the time” he sang loudly to the music drifting through the room. It was nightfall, and Albert still hadn’t come home, but he didn’t let it worry him. He’ll come home soon. He’ll come home.

“And I’ll be there for you baby but I gotta have some room, and you gotta keep your eyes on the new guys in the room”

His mind drifted to Spot. Was he really falling in love with him? Maybe he was. He never really could figure out his emotions really.

“And the way the dance is crazy I ain’t never seen this shit, and the strobe lights are too hot so let’s just get this over with” 

But if he did end up dating Spot, what about Albert? What was he supposed to do about him? Maybe he should date Albert instead. But did he really love Albert?

“She said ‘your lips tasted like they did way back in July, headaches and over does I hope that we never die”

Why were emotions so confusing? He groaned in frustration, setting down the wooden spoon he was using to cook, and wandering to the bedroom. 

“October’s always here, November never leave, December disappear, she said to me” 

He fell on the bed, landing on the side Albert always lays when it’s too cold to sleep outside. He buried his face into the pillow, his hand brushing over a piece of paper.

“I dance really fast so you gotta dance real fast and my friends are all passed out in the back of my old van”

He pulled it out, finding a yellowing, stained envelope, with ‘albert’ written in large, childish handwriting. He opened it, finding an equally old and stained letter, with a drawing on the back and writing on the other side. 

“And she’s got this sense of humour that goes over your forehead, Lindsay let me kiss her forehead”

The drawing was of two fat yellow people with circle heads, and long stick like arms. One of them had blues eyes, and in the same hand writing, ‘Antonio’ was written above it. The other person had wild, spiky red hair, with ‘albert’ hovering just above it’s head. 

“And I know that you think that I don’t care about all the friends I left behind, the ones who stay awake at night screaming ‘bout their shattered minds”

He started to read the writing on the back. ‘Dear albert. I had a lot of fun playing with yew today. I hoppe we cann playe sumtim agin. Yew ar reely cewl. Luv Antonio.’ It read, in large handwriting. The date at the top read 3/1/2002. He would’ve thought that Albert would’ve thrown out this letter by now. He held the letter close to him, reading it over and over and over again. Race was four when he wrote this. He was 19 now. 

“I know that you think that I don’t care about the friends I left behind, the ones who stay awake at night screaming ‘bout their shattered minds.”

 

Albert didn’t come home that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pester me at @rxttennk1d


	7. shit. sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh fuck

gonna put this fic on hiatus for a while. i'm running low on ideas for this fic, so i'm gonna leave it here and come back when i actually know what the fuck to do. 

'but you're leaving us on a cliff hanger! what ever shall we do? is albert ok!?'

you'll all deal.

if you guys have any ideas of what i should do, please pester me at rxttenk1d on tumblr. 

please.

i'm still gonna be posting stories and shit, just mainly one shots. 

later kids.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! my first proper fic! Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read this! I'm gonna aim for about 1000 words per chapter, as well, and maybe end up updating just whenever i can. if you want, hmu at my tumblr on rxttenk1d if you want to give me ideas/prompts/headcannons for the story. thanks kiddos.


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